


No Hands Allowed

by via_ostiense



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-29
Updated: 2002-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/pseuds/via_ostiense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore organizes school spirit activities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hands Allowed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Armchair's November 2002 Flirtatious Food Fic Challenge. My first completed HP fic ever :).

Harry and Ron eagerly scanned the notice board in the common room, wondering what today’s contest would be. This year almost half of the school had stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas break, afraid to venture into the outside world, a world where green Dark Marks hovered in the sky like gruesome holiday decorations. Dumbledore had been organising daily contests for all to participate in, to distract the students from the gloomy news of disappearances and killings. Ron, now taller than any of the other Gryffindors, looked over everyone’s head and read the notice to Harry.

“‘Greetings, Hogwarts students! Today is the final day of pre-Christmas festivities, and the contest to conclude our week of fun is Hogwarts’ first Food Gorging Bash. All students are welcome to compete or to watch, and the competition will take place during lunch in the Great Hall.’ Cripes, Harry, it’s almost lunchtime, we’d better get down to the Hall now.”

Harry and Ron exited the common room, chatting as they went.

“A Food Gorging Bash, huh? I wonder if that’s related to Engorgement Charms?” mused Harry.

“Whatever it is, I hope we win it. It’s a hundred points to whoever wins, remember? And Gryffindor’s only fifty points from first place,” answered Ron.

“Right. I still can’t believe that Slytherin and Ravenclaw are winning, I’d thought that we’d been doing better. Hermione won the Charms battle and Dean came in second in the ice sculpture contest a few days ago,” Harry grumbled.

“Well, Ravenclaw won the poetry slam and their castle took first place in the gingerbread house contest, and those bloody Slytherins took the costume contest and karaoke night. I still can’t believe that Millicent Bulstrode, of all people, can sing!”

“Well, you didn’t know that Padma could rap, either, and she won the slam,” Harry pointed out.

“Rap? What’s that?”

“Erm, it’s a kind of Muggle music, sort of like what was happening at the poetry contest,” Harry replied as he walked into the Great Hall, automatically looking for Malfoy’s blond head. The entire week, the two enemies had faced off against each other multiple times in the competitions and so far, they were even.  _You’re going to lose this time, Malfoy_ , Harry thought, sending a vengeful glare at the Slytherin table.

The two friends quickly sat by Hermione, waiting for McGonagall to rise and announce the rules of the competition. The Deputy Headmistress had been presiding over all the contests this week, and the room quieted as she stood up. Harry noticed that she seemed less enthusiastic about this contest than she had been about Charms battle, or even any of the other ones.

“Students, the competition today is the Food Gorging Bash. As usual, the winner will receive one hundred points for her or his house, and everyone is allowed to participate. This is a food eating contest – whoever eats the most, wins. The rules are as follows: you may not stop eating, and you must eat everything that appears on your plate. If you cease to eat, then you will be eliminated. Spells will keep track of how much food you ingest, so do not attempt to cheat by spilling food onto the floor or swapping plates with someone else. Let the Food Gorging Bash commence!” McGonagall waved her wand and a dramatic flash of multicoloured light swept through the Hall.

Suddenly, food appeared on the golden plates set in front of each student. The tables groaned beneath loads of pancakes, custards, cherry tarts, sides of roast beef, mash and gravy, strawberry jello, lasagnes, and mushroom flans. Hermione’s nostrils flared as she muttered,

“More work for the house elves! No doubt they’re spelling all the food to come up as soon as one of you hogs finishes a plate. I refuse to take part in such blatant slavery!” and she sat, adamantly refusing to eat a bite. Two minutes later, smoky red letters shot above her head to read,

“Hermione Granger, Gryffindor: 0 plates.”

Harry caught sight of Malfoy’s aristocratic face sneering at the girl, while the Slytherin took dainty bites from his mushroom flan. Harry grumbled and attacked his plate of beef with renewed vigour, determined to take Malfoy down.  _I won’t let Malfoy win, I won’t let Malfoy win_ , he thought, making that a mantra that echoed through his head as he tossed aside empty bones (all that remained of a quarter pound roast) and dove into the steaming lasagne that appeared on his plate.

A half hour later, and only two-thirds of the contestants were left. Ravenclaw and Slytherin, both determined to win, had the most members still consuming. Almost all of Hufflepuff had dropped, and less than half of Gryffindor remained in the Great Hall. Neville had gone to the hospital wing ten minutes ago, looking queasy and clutching his stomach. Fred and George had been disqualified for enchanting their plates to fly around and dump themselves on the heads of various students. Harry and Ron ploughed doggedly on; Hermione had long since abandoned them for the Library, sniffing at their gluttony.

“Must…eat…apple…fritter,” Ron muttered thickly. His mouth was smeared with icing from five cupcakes, crumbs from at least three or four pumpkin pies, and the juices from ten cherry tarts.

“Go on, Ron, you can do it,” Harry forced the words around an enormous forkful of baked salmon he’d just shoved into his mouth. He lifted his head, checking to see whether Malfoy was still competing. Harry was surprised to find the blond head sitting at the Slytherin table, calmly swigging at pumpkin juice between bites of fried calamari. By the looks of it, Crabbe and Goyle had long since passed out on either side of him, their heads buried in heaps of boiled peas and lentils.  _Huh, I wouldn’t have thought that the slimy git could eat so much, he’s so slender_ , Harry mused. Pushing thoughts of Malfoy’s amazing stomach capacity aside, he focused on the bucket of ice cream that had popped up on his plate.

Another hour later, and only Harry, Malfoy, and a few stray Ravenclaws remained upright, the rest having collapsed into their plates or waddled to the hospital wing for stomach pumping potions. Harry was like a machine now, his only purpose to eat, eat, eat, his whole world his plate, and he barely noticed what he was putting in his mouth, his entire being focused on moving his spoon from plate to mouth and back again. Slowly, the remaining Ravenclaws keeled over and more signs popped into the air:

“Terry Boot, Ravenclaw: 96 plates of food.”

“Padma Patil, Ravenclaw: 103 plates of food.”

“Roger Davies, Ravenclaw: 104 plates of food.”

The smoky blue letters lingered in the air, and Harry was startled out of his food-consuming reverie by an enormous yell. He looked up to see Dumbledore at the high table, announcing,

“And now we are down to two contenders: Harry Potter of Gryffindor, and Draco Malfoy of Slytherin! Will the two contestants please come to the high table for the final round of Hogwarts’ first Food Eating Bash?”

Harry and Malfoy hauled themselves up to the high table, wondering what would be next. Dragon pie? Veal? Blast-Ended Skrewt flambé? It seemed as if they had consumed all the food in the kitchens. 

Dumbledore beamed at the two enemies, saying, “Well, boys, this next round of the Bash will have slightly different rules, but let’s wait until the rest of the school arrives, as I’m sure they don’t want to miss the end of the competition.”

The two slumped into chairs, unable to do more than nod at the headmaster. Slowly, almost all of the students filed back into the Great Hall, whispering amongst themselves. No one was surprised to find that this last contest had boiled down to a Potter/Malfoy confrontation; it was only to be expected. 

Dumbledore stood and cried, “Greetings, Hogwarts students! We are now at the finale of our week of Christmas festivities, and you see before you the last two contestants: Mr. Malfoy, from Slytherin House, and Mr. Potter, from Gryffindor House. All the rules for this last bout of food munching are the same, with one more: contestants may not use their hands to eat. On my mark, begin!”

Harry and Malfoy met each other’s eyes with horror – no hands? Malfoy snarled and tore his eyes away, concentrating on the cream pie that had appeared on his plate. Harry would have laughed at the undignified sight of the Slytherin blinking owlishly behind a facemask of whipped cream and berries, except that he had his own pie to contend with. And…the white cream and red strawberries were kind of nice on him – the cream matched with Malfoy’s hair, and the strawberries added colour to his pale face. The Gryffindor shook his head, wondering what he was thinking, and dove into his pie.  _Right. I did not just think that Malfoy was cute, in fact I didn’t even think about him._  

Malfoy, sensing Potter’s eyes on him, peered at his archrival from the corners of his eyes.  _Silly git can’t even eat a pie without getting it in his hair_ , he thought.  _Looks rather sexy, actually, snowy-white filling against a messy black head. Wait. Did I just think that Potter looked sexy?_  The Slytherin paused from gulping and licking at his pie long enough to send an evil scowl at his rival.  _Well, the strawberries do match his House colours, and I’ve always been partial to anything red and white._  Draco shook his head as the unwelcome thought crept in.  _Maybe I’ve gone loony._  

And so it proceeded for two more pies, with Draco and Harry becoming steadily more pie-covered and continuing to shoot furtive glances at one another. Harry, overcome by a week’s worth of festering rivalry, and traitorous thoughts about the aesthetic effects of blueberries and lemon meringue on Malfoy’s face, snapped. And threw his pie, hitting Draco squarely in the face. That was a mistake for three reasons, as he realised. First of all, Draco, jolted out of a daydream involving Potter, strawberry glaze, and whipped cream, retaliated with his own German chocolate pie. Then both of them remembered—no hands allowed. Next, Dumbledore stepped up and said,

“Well, boys. As you did not use your hands to eat your pies, throwing them is quite alright. However, the rules do state that you must eat everything that has appeared on your plates.”

The two boys, as well as the remainder of the audience, gaped in horror. Malfoy found his voice first, “Headmaster, you can’t mean–”

“I’ve got to eat the pie that I threw at him?” Harry interrupted.

Eyes twinkling, the ancient professor nodded at them. “Quite right, Harry, Mr. Malfoy. Remember, no hands allowed.”

The Slytherin and the Gryffindor looked at each other with the utmost loathing.

 _I can’t use my hands. I can’t use my hands. I have to eat off of him. The only way to eat is to—_  

“Going to back out, Potter?”

“Not a chance, Malfoy.”

“Well, then. Come here.”

Resentment blazing from every pore, Harry gingerly scooted closer to Malfoy. He closed his eyes, grimacing, as the other boy leaned in. And licked him, running a warm tongue along his cheek.  _I’d better get a hundred points for this,_  Harry thought grimly.  _Or maybe two or three or four hundred._  Harry proceeded to do to Malfoy exactly what the Slytherin was doing to him, and sucked at the tip of his nose until it was clear of cream, fruit, and pie crumbs. The Gryffindor licked, tongued, and suckled his way over Malfoy’s admittedly well-formed face until it was nearly clear. Malfoy had been working much slowly than he, and so Harry could do nothing but sit and wait while the prat took his sweet time consuming his dessert.

Finally, Draco pulled away.

“Ugh, Potter, you should really bathe more often. Your skin tastes awful.”

Stung, Harry retorted, “I'm not going to clean myself up just to taste good for you, Malfoy!”

“Shut up, Potter. And hold still, there’s still a bit of pie left on you.”

“Where? It doesn’t feel like you’ve missed anywhere, slobbering all over me!”

“It’s on your—it’s on your lips. And you’ve left some on mine, I can feel it.”

“Oh.”

“Er.”

Sighing, Harry steeled himself. After all, he’d been licking the rest of Malfoy’s face, what more harm could this do? Eyes scrunched shut, he leaned in once more and caught the blond’s mouth with his own, focusing on taking first the lower lip and working it clean, then the upper. He gasped as Malfoy did the same, nipping at his lips, and shivered at the delicious taste of cream and fruit on his enemy’s tongue.  _I am not enjoying this, I am not enjoying this, I’m doing this for the good of Gryffindor, I’m not snogging Malfoy, I’m not enjoying this I’mnotenjoyingthis…_  

In the back of the room, Fred and George looked at Harry and Draco’s plates, both of which had fresh banana custard pies on them. With a glance between the twins, and quick  _Wingardium Leviosas_ , Draco’s pie dumped itself all over Harry, and Harry’s flew into Malfoy’s lap.


End file.
